


So say what you feel

by failurebydesign



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failurebydesign/pseuds/failurebydesign
Summary: Gabe stands, arms crossing over his chest when he laughs. “I’m not taking off your pants. Not for one vote, anyway.”Tyson clears his throat, focusing on his skates that now lay at his feet. A few of the guys laugh, making him feel unreasonably warm. He’s not the first one to appreciate how much Gabe looks likethatand knows he won’t be the last. Either way, he’s pretty sure it’s inappropriate to have those types of thoughts about his captain.( Or Tyson is kinda into his captain and it's fine. Totally fine. )





	So say what you feel

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you found this upon googling, exit immediately. This is a complete work of fiction and in no way am I implying that anything written in here is true. Stories are not meant to be circulated or shared with those written in them. All is loosely based on some real events, that is all.
> 
> All-Star Game voting. #GetGabeIn was a serious thing that both me and Josty took pretty seriously. This is rarepair hell that I don't expect many people to *get* but.... here we are.
> 
> Thank you to Ash, Ellie and ki for hyping me up and looking this over. Ily all so much! This is for you!

Tyson likes to think he’s pretty observant to his surroundings, though perhaps everything a bit sharper once he’s on ice, listening for his teammates as they skate and shoot behind him. He sits in his stall, jersey long gone after a light practice, fingers tapping against the wooden bench when his senses fail him.

He knows when the photographer comes in that something is up— that he should probably keep his pants on for the time being, though can’t help but smirk. It wouldn’t be the first time media had to be halted because one of them forgot to keep their clothes on.

Someone sets a candle nearby, which, okay, weird, but then _actually_ lights it and Tyson can’t help but laugh. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Gabe, suddenly appearing, smiling and standing before him _definitely_ isn’t it.

“Here, let me,” Gabe says and Tyson thinks _let you what_ — a thought that goes unsaid when Gabe drops to one knee. He pats his knee in a weird gesture that Tyson isn’t sure he understands, only made clearer when Gabe attempts to lift Tyson’s skate.

Tyson moves easily, bewildered, leaning back when Gabe begins to untie his skate. He tries his best to push down any feelings— anything that would make _this_ into a _thing_. It clearly isn’t. Still, Gabe, eyes hidden by a baseball cap, grins and Tyson’s stomach does that fluttery thing that he’d like to forget.

“A good captain is always willing to help out his teammates.” Gabe tugs at the laces, unties them, tying them _again_ and then— for some reason— turns to the camera and poses. In a beat, he continues, careful in untying them a second time— slow in removing the first skate and Tyson can’t help but laugh because _what the fuck_. Then it hits him— Gabe’s doing this for votes.

“I already voted for you,” Tyson says, laughing, because what else do you do when your captain is removing your skates. Once he’s finished, Tyson hears something being said about oranges, unable to process much more. He blinks a few times and like that, Gabe moves away. “You’re done?”

Gabe stands, arms crossing over his chest when he laughs. “I’m not taking off your pants. Not for one vote, anyway.”

Tyson clears his throat, focusing on his skates that now lay at his feet. A few of the guys laugh, making him feel unreasonably warm. He’s not the first one to appreciate how much Gabe looks like _that_ and knows he won’t be the last. Either way, he’s pretty sure it’s inappropriate to have those types of thoughts about his captain.

When Tyson lifts his head again, Gabe’s feeding Sam orange slices and that odd, swooping sensation returns, washing over him. He shakes his head, ignoring that small tinge of jealousy that follows. Tyson knows there’s no way he’d actually live through the same treatment via Gabe, though he’ll be damned it he doesn’t try. When he runs a hand through his hair, he barely registers the words that slip out from his own mouth. “Where’s mine?”

“Someone’s spoiled,” Sam says, taking a second slice and flinging it into Tyson’s chest with a pleased grin. It bounces, hits the ground, and Tyson rolls his eyes. That’s most definitely _not_ what he meant.

..

Gabe is taken away, likely for a few interviews, and the rest are left to finish changing and given the go-ahead to leave for the day. Tyson’s left feeling antsy, wondering what Gabe meant by _not for one vote_. He’s voted at _least_ ten times, anyway.

Tyson shakes his head, spinning a bit when he thinks _what if_ — considers lobbying for more votes or something when JT’s voice makes him jump.

“Dude, hurry up.” JT looks over his shoulder and laughs when Kerfy appears close behind. He’s already forgotten all about their lunch plans, too hung up on whatever the hell that was back there with Gabe and the absolute obscene way he’s learned to remove hockey skates. 

“Okay, keep your pants on,” Tyson mumbles, pulling his hoodie on over his head.

“Don’t worry, we’re not all trying to take ours off for Landy,” JT shoots back, sending Kerfy into a laughing fit.

It’s the second time Tyson is caught off guard in five minutes, probably the fourth time all day. He furrows his brows, shooting JT what he hopes is a strong enough glare to shut him up. It doesn’t work.

“Josty, were you at a ball anytime in the past week?” He can tell Kerfy is trying his best to keep a straight face, which he’d appreciate, except… _ball?_ JT’s already a goner, face in his hands, laughing— hard.

“A… what?” Tyson raises an eyebrow, gathering up his belongings. They’re coming off of a tough week of home game losses with a much-needed win and Tyson doesn’t recall any dancing, save for Mikko’s twirling about the locker room post Rangers game. That wasn’t a ball or anything— that was just… Mikko.

“He’s calling you out on that Cinderella shit,” JT says, nudging Tyson with a knowing grin. Tyson, still, is baffled. “You know, with the glass slipper?”

Tyson, slowly catching on, rolls his eyes. “You’re both idiots. That was nothing like Cinderella. Plus it was, like, totally planned.” He knows better than to make anything of it— because it’s all for PR— because Gabe was roped into doing anything it took to get votes. What he won’t admit is that it worked.

“So how many votes are you giving him, then?” JT asks when they’re in the parking lot. It’s not funny.

“Shut up,” Tyson says, remembering being interviewed, saying he spend his night _slamming the vote button_ , hoping to hell the media team decides to leave that out. He chews his bottom lip, getting into JT’s car. The last thing he needs is to be dragged for _that_ one. And it’s not like Tyson literally slammed a big red button in the name of love or anything. He voted, lightly tapping, he thinks— because he’s a good teammate and friend. 

Gabe’s looks are like, totally secondary.

..

Tyson wakes up early, before everyone else, heading to practice early. If he skates hard enough, then maybe his teammates will go easy on him this time around. He finds Mikko’s already there, recording something about how much a vote for Gabe means to him. Tyson doesn’t mean to roll his eyes, it’s just a natural response that comes, because of course no one’s there to tease Mikko about _his_ fawning. 

He’s not jealous. There’s no reason to be.

Except when Gabe walks in, eyes stuck on Mikko, smiling, thanking him, laughing and touching his shoulder, Tyson tenses.

So maybe he’s a little jealous.

It’s why he skates harder, faster and until his legs feel like jello. It’s why when his stick breaks and Kerfy laughs, he doesn’t. Tyson knows Gabe is out of his league— that even if they were on the same page, Tyson’s flirting is a bit unconventional.

He thinks back to his younger years, flirting with the cute boy that lived down the street. He’d tease him relentlessly, laughing when it caused the boy to blush. They kissed, once, when Tyson had enough nerve to dare him to— then fucked it all up by sticking the garden hose in his parents’ hallway and turning it on. As it turns out, flooding someone’s house doesn’t make them fall in love with you.

A loud smack shakes him out of his daydream— a puck hitting the glass just inches away. He turns, ready to strangle JT, because he wouldn’t expect anything less, except it’s not JT, it’s _Gabe_ who’s there, laughing.

“Seriously?” Tyson pokes the puck away with his stick, wondering when the entire team decided to start giving him shit. “Don’t make me un-vote you.” He clenches his gloved fist around his stick, because Gabe laughs, again, and like… there’s no way he’d _actually_ take his votes away.

“I don’t think you can un-vote somebody,” Gabe says with an easy shrug. Tyson wants to quash that claim and prove him that he could easily negate his votes by voting for someone else. It’s a flash of genius that he knows he wouldn’t _actually_ be able to pull of. Not when Gabe smiles, nudges his shoulder and drives him crazy with a, “Thanks for your votes.”

Tyson laughs, stupidly— nervously, because he can’t help but laugh about anything and everything as his way to coping with life— because Gabe keeps smiling, head tilted and Tyson can’t stop thinking about making out with him in the locker room. He’s, decidedly, pretty much fucked.

“You’re welcome,” Tyson settles on, giving his best smile, when his brain short-circuits, telling him that a punch to Gabe’s arm is the perfect way to express is admiration. He does, laughing— freezing momentarily because— _Oh God_ — he just punched his captain.

He gets out of there as quickly as possible after that.

..

“You _punched_ him?” JT says, eyes wide. Tyson waits for the punchline, stomach sick when he waits for JT to laugh. He wants to dig a hole and hide away until absolutely necessary. You don’t punch your captain. The thing is, JT doesn’t laugh. He sighs, running a hand over his face, head shaking with what seems like a little bit of understanding. “Dude, that’s not how you flirt.”

“I wasn’t flirting!” Tyson feels his temperature rise, knowing he’s gone pale. “That’s, like— he’s my captain.”

“Yeah,” JT says, shrugging, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But I know you, dude. You’re looking at him like he’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

Tyson inhales, nearly choking on air. 

Embarrassment isn’t a feeling that Tyson knows well. He’s willing to go above and beyond for the sake of a laugh. Just weeks ago, Tyson attempted (and mostly failed) to sing Christmas music, shrugging it off— only because he couldn’t manager to remember the words. JT chirped him, of course, but he was hardly phased.

He’s not exactly embarrassed by the whole Gabe situation, either, it’s just… until today, he didn’t realize he was _this_ blatantly transparent. 

“So we’re going to drop this whole Gabe thing,” Tyson decides and he’s given a reprieve through lunch, sighing with relief when it’s all over and he can nap it all away. It’s not like he can just _stop_ looking at Gabe— he’s not sure he wants to— but, as young and naive as Tyson is, he’s most certain that Gabe is Colorado’s most unattainable male— ever.

If he just ignores it, Tyson thinks, it’ll all be fine.

And it is. For a few days.

..

Game day in Winnipeg turns out to the be one of the coldest days Tyson’s experienced yet this season. To make matters worse, Gabe scores— twice— but they lose 4-7. It makes the flight out of there a quiet one.

Calgary isn’t any warmer, but it’s a change of scenery and Tyson is more than glad to leave Winnipeg behind. He stays optimistic— knows Calgary is going to be tough— but skates hard— again. Most of the team finishes up and the ice remains his for a short while longer, lingering.

There’s no promos this time, so Tyson doesn’t have to worry about making a complete fool of himself. Not until Gabe approaches him, anyway.

“You vote today?” Gabe runs a hand through his hair, still wet from showering. It’s almost unfair, when he grins and Tyson’s left unable to speak. He’s sure he’d only stutter if he tried. Gabe laughs, instead, which is also a little unfair when Tyson is so caught off guard. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Funny,” Tyson finally says, rubbing the back of his neck. He almost wishes JT were there to say something stupid and take the heat off of him. It’s almost as if this was planned, leaving him alone to laugh nervously and admit he hasn’t stopped voting— because Gabe’s a great captain— because he _deserves_ this trip. “I mean, I did,” he finally admits.

What he doesn’t tell Gabe is how it’s kind of begun to consume his mind, leaving him unsure how he’ll be able to easily relate to Gabe once this is all over. They’re teammates, which in theory makes it easy, but they’re often separate outside of the game, Tyson typically spending all of his time with JT and Kerfy. He doesn’t think Gabe’s the kind of person to sit around with a group of Fortnite playing idiots.

“Good.” Gabe shifts his weight, pats Tyson on the shoulder and it would be nearly condescending except then he freezes, eyes stuck on something that Tyson can’t quite place his finger on. It’s him.

“What?” Tyson laughs nervously, tugging at a loose string at the end of his sleeve. He busies his hands as a way to keep from reaching out and touching Gabe, as much as he’d like to. There’s a short moment where Gabe steps in and Tyson tries his best to keep his breath from hitching. He thinks maybe— possibly— Gabe’s considering a kiss just as much as he is.

Then Mikko comes in and fucks it all up.

“Let’s go, it’s _cold_!” Mikko puts a hand on his hip, head tilted towards the door. Gabe listens maybe a little too quickly, shuffling towards the door and Tyson’s left there, very briefly, to wonder what had happened had they been left uninterrupted— until Mikko, borderline irritated, calls his name.

..

Tyson keeps to himself after Calgary, because it’s two games in a row that end terribly and if he’s honest, Nate’s outburst on the bench was slightly terrifying. It’s no surprise when Gabe separates himself from the group, spending most of his downtime with Nate. _It’s to cheer him up_ , Tyson tells himself, because _that’s what a captain does_.

It’s not until they’re in Montreal, just finishing up their morning skate, when the news hits the locker room. Gabe gets voted in.

Tyson Sr. is the first one to find out, waving his phone in Gabe’s face. “I told you!”

It sparks a fire deep within Tyson, one that causes his fists to clench and his blood to run cold. It’s a feeling that he tries his best to ignore— one that he only recognizes as pure jealousy. He cheers in time with his teammates, pats Gabe on the back with the rest, but part of him, knowing it’s all over, feels oddly _sad_.

The volume in the room rises, guys yelling and cheering— too loud for Tyson’s liking when all he wants is to get out… _fast_. He waits until they’re all distracted, finding an opportune moment to slip out of the room and into the long, quiet hallway. It’s quiet, much to his satisfaction. All he really needs is a few minutes to gather his thoughts or at the very least to get his shit together and get over his captain. It’s just a stupid crush, he tells himself.

The sound of footsteps that cause his heart to quicken tell a different story. 

He anticipates JT or Kerfy to appear and a chirp to follow, because it’s the last thing he needs in the middle of an existential crisis and everything he expects. The voice he hears is softer than JT’s and much more concerned sounding. It’s Gabe who approaches, cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Tyson says, forcing a smile. “Congrats again, man.”

“Thanks.” Gabe laughs, shrugging a little. “I would have been happy either way, but I’m glad. I think the campaign really helped.”

“And now you never have to touch my smelly skates again,” Tyson says with a laugh, screaming inside at his use of self-deprecation.

Gabe shrugs, smiles, but speaks softly. “I didn’t mind. It was fun. A little weird, but…”

“But?” Tyson is quick to ask.

“You seemed to like it.” Gabe laughs again, the sound something Tyson could get used to it only allowed.

He shrugs it off, giving the best coy smile. “I didn’t mind. It’s nice to have someone care for you.” Tyson doesn’t mean to sound so _soft_ when he says it. It’s comes naturally when Gabe is close, yearning for just a little bit more.

“You want me to take your nasty skates off?” Gabe smirks, taking a step closer.

Tyson laughs, shaking his head. “Probably never again. But maybe we could hang out sometime.” He chews his bottom lip, watching Gabe’s expression change to one of uncertainty. Tyson silently curses his stomach’s inability to not turn over when Gabe’s involved, holding his breath until Gabe’s smile returns.

“We always hang out,” Gabe says, pausing when Tyson’s face falls. “Unless you mean just you and me. Which, hey, okay.”

“Okay?” Tyson exhales, feeling dizzy— feeling _excited_.

“Yeah,” Gabe says, lower— closer, hands cupping Tyson’s face, lips kissing his. Tyson’s eyes close, his head spins— again and again— and just like that, his world changes. It’s something new. It’s something exciting. It’s something Tyson never knew could be all his thanks to a few silly votes.

And he’d do it all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired from The Struggle by Grizfolk.
> 
> Currently dantefabbs on tumblr / dejadejayou on twitter.


End file.
